


Secrets: “Probably best that you don’t tell your mother. Or Detective Douche.”

by CuddlerOfDragons



Series: Secrets [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: Set sometime in season three, when not much else is going on and before Chloe finds out that Lucifer is the actual Devil.  One shot.





	Secrets: “Probably best that you don’t tell your mother. Or Detective Douche.”

 

In general, Chloe Decker respected other people’s privacy. As a police detective, this wasn’t always possible, of course, not when it was part of her job. Also, occasionally, when she was drunk. At Lucifer’s. When he wasn’t there.

Right now, though, she was stone cold sober.

Nothing could have prepared her for the implications of  _this_.

The photograph had been hidden; that meant that  _Trixie_ understood that it was wrong.

Chloe hadn’t been  _snooping_ in her daughter’s room, she’d only been changing the duvet cover. She’d shaken it, a few of Trixie’s drawings on the wall had fluttered and the photo had fallen to the floor from behind one.

There was writing on the back of the photograph. Hands shaking, Chloe turned it over and read. She felt sick.

Seriously, she was going to  _kill_ Lucifer.

***

She didn’t trust herself to drive.

 _At least Dan has Trixie, tonight._ She thought, as she paid the uber driver before striding, as though she owned the place - ignoring the line of queuing clubbers  _and_ the doormen - through the entrance and into Lux.

Lucifer was sitting at the bar, a glass of scotch in his hand, talking seductively to a half dressed female  _and_ her male companion.

“Upstairs, now.” Chloe snarled into his ear.

“Detective?” For an instant he looked happy to see her, then his face fell as he took in her expression. “What’s happened?”

“ _Now_ , Lucifer.”

He drained the scotch in one swallow and followed her to the elevator.

She was silent as they rode up but he could feel the fury coming off her as though it was tangible.

“Sit.” She said, so aggressively that he complied, instantly. She slapped the incriminating picture down on the coffee table in front of him. “Explain.”

He looked at the photograph and smiled - it had been such a  _glorious_ day.

“Which part?” He asked, tentatively.

“Start with car.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it? I had to  _buy_ it, of course. It came highly recommended; it did The Nurburgring in just over seven minutes. It handles  _beautifully_ on the bends…”

“If I knew what that  _meant_ , I’m fairly sure it’s  _not_ what I want to hear.” She turned the picture over. “What does this mean?”

“Well, the first set of numbers are the date…”

“Yes, I figured  _that_. Last year, a couple of weeks after you sent Candy packing, wasn’t it?”

“Quite so but that had nothing to do with  _this_. I had a deal with The Spawn…”

“When you had her pretend to be  _yours_ for that stupid, fancy school.”

“You wouldn’t let her drive the Corvette, so she asked for  _this_.” He turned the photo over, again. He and The Spawn were leaning against the sleek, red sports car, she holding her crash helmet and grinning ear to ear, he toasting the photographer with his open flask.

“No crash helmet for you?”

“Completely unnecessary, for me.”

“Didn’t want to mess up your hair.” She muttered. “The other numbers are lap times? Top speeds?”

“Yes. A ‘track day’ souvenir.”

“Please tell me that you didn’t drive  _her_ round that fast.” Her eyes were closed, a headache starting.

“No, of course not, Detective…”

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he hadn’t…

“ _I_ wasn’t driving. Those are Beatrice’s times.”

 


End file.
